Episode One: Old Dog, Old Tricks?
by EdakumiKurei
Summary: A fan's take on Season 6. Each episode a story, a few chapters to each. Episode One: The world is 'back to normal, just the way Dean wanted it, so why doesn't it feel right? Meanwhile, the angels are up to something... Rating to change later, possibly.


_**Episode One – Old Dog, Old Tricks?**_

_**Part One**_

_Hello everyone. Welcome to the very first installment of, what I hope to be, my own notions of Season Six. This series will be divided into 22 'Episodes', each episode being a story of it's own. I haven't yet decided how many chapters each episode or 'story' will be, so it's sure to vary. This chapter's main purpose is some serious introduction to the state and thoughts of the characters at the beginning of Season 6, mostly Dean. I was anxious to get it out there and see the response to my idea, but I will be travelling for the next few weeks, so the next update will come at approximately the 3rd of July..._

_In the meantime, feel free to leave a review on this taste. They're insiring, and I've activated anonymous reviews. _

_PS. Eventual MxM pairing in this story. This will be clearly marked, so you may skip over it if you please. If you don't like, don't read, and please don't hate on it. Constructive criticism is welcomed, but random flaming is not..._

_-Edakumi_

* * *

Dean stared at the little area of road he could see as he cruised down a dark country road. The headlights of the Impala illuminated little – a strip of light spread a few metres behind him, slight twitches in his vision as the white painted lines on the asphalt flew by. Darkness and trees obstructed him from seeing anything else. One hand rested on the steering wheel, the other on his tight, nails scratching absently at the worn denim.

He wasn't even sure where he was going. He hadn't thought that far ahead. To be honest, he hadn't really thought about anything other than getting in the car and driving, escaping for a short amount of time, just to sit with nothing but his thoughts to distract him. Even his thoughts were being considerate enough to keep it down tonight.

He knew Lisa worried when he drove off on certain nights, without warning beforehand or explanation when he returned. He was thankful that she didn't ask him about it, that she didn't prod into it. When he came back (usually the next day), she looked him up and down sadly, making sure he was in one piece, before asking if he wanted breakfast for lunch. He'd say yeah, thanks, and eat his pancakes quietly. Neither of them spoke until another day had gone by.

Don't get him wrong, he did love Lisa. He loved Ben too, as if he was his own kid, whatever that would've felt like. They were family to him, but not in the way Lisa wanted them to be. This normal, quiet, apple pie life as he'd once called it, was exactly what he'd been fighting for during the Apocalypse. He'd wanted to keep the world here, and safe, for people like Lisa and Ben. But now that it was done, he wasn't sure where he fit into it all.

Lisa welcomed him into her home in such a simple, no fuss way, as if she'd done it a million times, as if it was what she was supposed to do. How it was supposed to end up. She'd taken her time with him, asked none of the wrong questions, brought up none of the wrong topics – she'd let him set the pace. The first few months had been tough. Dean had felt constantly exhausted in those months. Even though the apocalypse was done and dusted, no more Lucifer (no more Sam, the back of his mind supplied, served with a pang of grief that he sent right back to the metaphorical kitchen), no more Horsemen, no more omens, no more angels (which, again, came with a heavy loneliness rather than the relief it should have come with)...

Everything was done, back to normal, but Dean still felt like every day was something he had to fight through, force himself through, hell, sometimes even resist as much as he had done with Michael. Everything was perfect, and maybe that was the problem. The people of the world were safe, they were happy, they were going about their lives with their families, friends, listening to music, shopping, partying, just living the life in general, just like he wanted it. Only he felt no sense of fulfilment. He didn't fit into this image of happy and content. He didn't know what to do with it. He'd sit down and eat dinner with Lisa and Ben, go to the baseball games, the beach, the park, the cinema...

But he never tasted the food. He never followed the scores. Never felt the sea breeze. Never heard the birds building their nests among the jungle gyms. Never saw what was happening on the screen.

He tried for a while. He really did. But he just couldn't. Eventually, he learned to pretend that he was in the moment. He smiled when he thought he was supposed to, laughed, agreed with someone, made comment here and there... But it was all hollow. Lisa knew it, too. But as always, she didn't push. She was sure Dean was going to pull through, and that in itself hurt. Dean knew how she saw him, how strong she thought him. He pretended because he didn't have the heart to disappoint her. God knows he's disappointed enough people in his life.

The car slowed and the engine settled slightly as he drew up to the main road into town, leaving the small country lane. Street lamps came into view, just barely, to his left. He waited for an old pickup to go past before pulling out into the two lane asphalt, and was on his way again, eyes fixed absently on the road, white lines flicking past, car quiet. Not even the radio was on.

It was a nearly five months before he could think about it. He missed Sam. He missed him like he'd miss a whole chunk from the middle of his chest. More, probably, but that's what it felt like physically. Something had been torn away from him. He began replaying that last day in his mind – leaving Detroit to find Sam, only to find Lucifer, and Michael possessing his other brother. Adam... He'd failed Adam unbelievably. Adam had been dead before he even knew about him, because of their Dad, and was brought back into this mess because of Dean. He didn't deserve any of it, and now he was in the Pit.

He remembered Cas and Bobby intervening. They'd followed him, even though they had no reason to. He hadn't asked them, and he didn't deserve their help, but they'd followed anyway. And look where it had got them... Cas, in bits, and Bobby, neck broken, in a heap. He didn't even have time to shout, or to cry, to get himself out of the shock, before Lucifer was on him. Lucifer, he thought determinedly, not Sam. Sam was in there, fighting his way out, and eventually he succeeded. Succeeded, only to drag himself, Lucifer, Adam and Michael all into the Pit.

He knew it was technically a victory – Sam had done what they set out to do. Sam had stopped the apocalypse, the apocalypse Dean started when he said yes to Alastair in Hell. He didn't blame Sam for killing Lilith. It was far from Sam's fault. It was his own, for being weak.

The next while after that went by fast for him at the time. The shock stopped him thinking straight about the fact that Sam was gone, below him, and Bobby and Cas were dead around him. At least, that's what he'd thought until Cas came back.

Dean sighed as he drove. Castiel. Every time he thought of the angel, he felt like shooting himself with the shame. Cas had been through just as much as he and Sam, if not more in his thousand year existence, but in the last year... The angel rebelled and gave his everything to Sam and Dean's cause, and Dean hardly batted an eyelash about it half the time. Cas lost his home, his brothers and sisters, then his father, his faith, and eventually his Grace. All for his continued help for Sam and Dean.

Every time Dean thought about it all, he was ashamed of himself for treating the angel like he did most of the time. He demanded answers and actions from the angel, showed little consideration for him, little thanks for what he did do for them, and yet he stuck around. He was right to have lost his faith in Dean near the end. But it wasn't until then that Dean realised how much Cas had been there for him, how much Cas really did for him. Even when Cas beat the shit out of him when he had been so close to saying yes to Michael – it was all for his own good, and yet Dean had refused to see it.

When Castiel stopped caring... It hit Dean harder than he wanted to let on. It hit him as hard as Sam choosing a demon over him, Sam lying to him, Sam breaking his promises. It took that for Dean to realize how much of a friend Cas had been to him, and just how much he'd valued that. Team Free Will, he thought to himself bitterly. Things hadn't been the same after that with Cas. He'd gone back to Heaven, after all they'd done, and after he knew what they were capable of and what the angels were really like. Dean thought maybe, after Cas lost whatever faith he had in Dean, that Heaven was all that was left for him, but banished the thought immediately. It wasn't as if Cas had thought enough of him to begin with for that to be true.

Cas just wanted to fix things. For things to go back to normal, just like the rest of them. He was back in Heaven, back taking orders, back with his brothers and sisters, with his Grace and his home. Just like he'd been before this had all began, before he and Dean had even met. Back to the emotionless soldier from then, and hey, apparently that's how it was supposed to be.

When Cas disappeared, and Dean was left in the car on his own... That is what he remembers the clearest. Sam's loss still raw and painful, Castiel's absence heavy and obvious after Dean's bitter words... He felt so alone. He didn't know what to do, where to go from something like that, and so he'd done what Sam had told him to do, because he promised Sam.

He hadn't told Lisa of his promise to Sam. He knew how much it would hurt her if he did, if he told her the reason he was here with her still was because it was his brother's last wish. He cared for Sam so much, and in those final moments, he knew he'd do anything for him, and made the promise. For Sam's sake, he was keeping it.

So yes, he loved Lisa. But not the way she wanted him to, or the way Sam wanted him to. Lisa was someone he felt he could connect to most of the time, she was a graceful, smart person. He admired her deeply for everything she was and for everything she was doing for him. But he didn't feel close to her. He couldn't tell her anything that he was feeling, anything about the fight, the apocalypse... Sometimes he thought about going back to Bobby's for a weekend or something, get them both madly drunk, and let off the steam. But he wouldn't do that to Bobby. Bobby was doing well, recovering from the fight well. Dean wasn't going to mess that up, and now he didn't have Cas to talk to about it either.

When remembering got too much for him, he had to drive off. He didn't know where to, or what he was going to do, he just knew he had to get away for a while. He'd leave a note for Lisa saying nothing more than 'gone for a drive', and when he came back, it was just like the day he showed up at her door last year. She welcomed him in without question.

He had reached the town at this stage, and glanced out the windows without really seeing the fast food places he drove past, the closed shops, the old theatre... It was a nice little town. Close community, wanting for little, quiet... It was a nice town, and Dean didn't fit into it.

He finally pulled in then, the Impala slowing, rocking side to side as the gravel rumbled under her tyres, before he drew to a stop before a small bar with a friendly looking wooden porch. It seemed empty enough, with just two other cars parked, so it suited him. He wasn't in the mood for running into a load of people, pretending to be interested in their conversation...

The door opened with a creak and the car shifted as he stepped out onto his feet, swinging the door closed with another creak. He locked it in one smooth, fluid motion, closed his fist over the keys and stuffed both hands into the pockets of his father's leather jacket. A few hours getting good and drunk, followed by falling into the back seat of the Impala, before falling into a temporary coma, before driving back to Lisa and Ben. His routine was well honed at this stage.

Just as he turned away, a loud, high-pitched smash erupted behind him. He spun around, hunter instincts still fresh, reaching for a gun, then realised he didn't carry one anymore. Before him, the top of the nearest street light lay in pieces all over the road and footpath, as if it had just exploded. Dean looked from the ground, to the street light, then scanned the surrounding area, not moving a muscle.

No noise. No movement. Nothing in sight. It looked like it was nothing, but Dean usually knew better. He stood alert for a few minutes, searching the dark street up and down without moving. The familiar sensation of being watched was all over him, like insects crawling up the back of his legs over his back and neck. Something was out there in the dark, but that something was definitely avoiding him.

He took one step back, then another. Still no noise. No movement.

"Who's there?" He demanded angrily, even though he was in no position to.

His only answer was the wind.

He shook his head and rolled his shoulders, frowning. He looked down the street one more time, then up again, then turned his back and made his way into the bar.

* * *

"Dispatched."

Castiel looked up from the small, unassuming dagger in his hand, but didn't stop turning it in small circles between his fingers. He nodded at the single word spoken, without turning around to look at the speaker. "Any difficulties?" He said at last, his voice low and gravelly.

"None. The demons don't move well together in groups, against groups. None of ours were injured."

Castiel turned at last, trench coat catching on some of the long grass around his feet. He stood in a small clearing in a forest of mighty redwoods, alone apart from the woman standing at attention, hands at her side, and expression serious. Her straight blonde hair down her back and small, dainty figure gave an impression of weakness, but her face said differently. She held an expression of severe concentration, along with triumph and determination.

"Thank you, Lirael." He nodded. "Order the return now."

Another nod was the reply he received. It was abnormally dark here, with the canopy of trees above them blocking the light of the moon or stars.

"Wait," He said suddenly, before she disappeared. "One other thing."

"Anything, brother." She watched him with the admiration a soldier has for her superior, the ambition for herself mingled in.

"I need you to carry out the debriefing on the return, and tell the others that there are no further orders for the time being."

"...Of course, but..." She hesitated as Castiel glanced at her, his face as always a stoic mask. "You aren't returning with us?"

Castiel watched her for a moment longer, heavy blue eyes regarding calm, brown ones, before speaking. "No, I have other work to attend to."

Lirael simply nodded, before vanishing smoothly, leaving nothing but a small breeze and the sound of feathers.

Castiel didn't move for a while after she left. He looked down to the knife in his hands again, fingers running over the runes carved into the blade, hilt smooth and comfortable in his hands from use. He gave a long sigh, before looking up into the canopy of trees again. A second later he was gone.

* * *

Dean frowned and breathed in heavily, the morning light intruding on him in his waking moments. Far too bright for his liking. He reached up with stiff arms to rub at his eyes, a jaw-cracking yawn shaking him and causing his eyes to water. He grunted as he pulled himself into a sitting position, lowering his feet from the leather seats onto the floor of the car, and giving an attempt at a stretch, without much success. Not enough room, he realized groggily.

He pushed the door open slowly, tasting the fresh morning air as it seeped into the car. His boots crunched in the gravel as he stood, stepping away from the car, leaving the door open. He lifted his arms into the air and gave an almighty stretch, bones in his shoulders and legs cracking from being curled up in the back of the Impala all night.

He didn't drink nearly as much as he wanted to last night. He just didn't have any inclination to when he got there. He'd taken his seat and ordered his usual mechanically, as if he was brushing his teeth or something. When the drink was handed to him, however, he wasn't sure why he'd asked for it or what to do with it anymore. He'd still slept in the car anyway.

He looked down as something loud cracked under his foot, moving his toes out of the way and finding some broken glass there. He looked around where he was standing, more glass everywhere. He remembered the street lamp suddenly and glanced up at it again to find it still broken. At least je knew he hadn't been hallucinating at least.

He jumped suddenly as his phone started ringing and vibrating in his pocket.

"Jesus..." He mumbled shakily to himself, reaching into the restricting denim pockets and pulling it out. He flipped it open, took one look at the number calling and frowned. It wasn't a number he knew or recognised, some sort of mobile number judging by the extension at the beginning. He chewed on the inside of his mouth for a moment before deciding he'd better answer, in case it was something important. He pressed the green button roughly before raising it to his ear.

"Yeah?"

"_Where are you?"_

Dean froze, arms gone limp and eyes gone wide with shock. He nearly dropped the phone. "..Cas..? Cas, is that you?"

He pulled a face at a sudden burst of static, and wind. A lot of wind. He thought he heard some words in there too...

"Cas? I can't hear you, what-"

"_Where are you?" _Castiel spoke again, more impatiently this time.

"Uhh... I'm at The Friars', the bar up beside-"

"_I know it." _

Dean heard a click, then the dial tone. Cas had hung up. Dean closed the phone quickly and started stuffing it back in his pocket, looking around, moving around in a circle to look everywhere for where the angel was probably about to materialize. How did Castiel know what bar he was talking about? God knows how many bars there were name Friars' in the world.

"Dean," Castiel's voice came from behind him, and he spun quickly to find the speaker. Even when Dean knew he was coming, it still made him jumpy.

Castiel stood there in the middle of the car park, familiar trench coat and suit, hands limp at his side, and eyes boring into Dean's, his signature frown across his features. He looked exactly the same as when he left.

"Cas..." Dean replied quietly, unable to stop the slight smile pulling at the edges of his lips. "I can't believe... I mean, whoah, you're back..." He trailed off, feeling uneasy under the angel's unchanging gaze. His face was expressionless, simply watching Dean just like he did in the first days after they'd met. _He's probably back the way he used to be,_ Dean thought sadly. _With his mojo back, he probably lost all the human stuff he learned..._

"We need to talk. Alone." While Dean was madly elated to hear an old voice again, Castiel's didn't sound to happy about meeting again. Dean felt extreme de ja vu, the words repeated from the day they met.

"About what?" Dean frowned, holding his arms out gesturing. "We are alone."

"Not here." Castiel replied simply, taking a few steps towards Dean, raising his right hand.

"Whoa! No, no no, don't even think about it," He held out his own hands, planning on pushing Castiel back. He hated it when Castiel used to teleport him, he was sure he probably still did. The angel was totally unhindered, though, pushing Dean's hands aside with his left arm, right hand touching Dean's forehead easily.

The word spun ridiculously for a moment, and the gravel beneath Dean's feet turned into a mass of colour and nothing, before being replaced by grass. The temperature changed, went at least ten degrees higher suddenly, and he heard the sea. He opened his eyes, and lifted a hand to his head, resettling himself and holding in the content of his stomach before looking around. He stood on a cliff jutting right out to sea, grass swaying in the wind at his feet, waves lapping lazily at the rocks two hundred feet below him.

"Where are we?" He asked slightly breathlessly.

"Italy." Castiel answered, his voice toneless. "The island of Capri."

Dean nodded, lifting his shoulders slowly, pulling a face. "Okay, Italy. Uh, why are we in Italy?" He tried again.

Castiel finally turned to look at Dean, expression serious as always, hands in his pockets. "I told you. We needed to talk."

"Cas, spit it out, man." Dean sighed, not really sure he wanted to hear this anymore. He got no answer for a minute while the angel just watched him, face revealing nothing.

"I need you to start hunting again, Dean."

* * *

_Once again, reviews are inspiring, and if you don't have an account, you can still review as I've activated anonymous reviews._

_Hope it's caught your interest..._


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